


Families

by ExuberantOcean



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e11 Carry On Hawkeye, Flu, Hurt/Comfort, background Hawkeye/Trapper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29209548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExuberantOcean/pseuds/ExuberantOcean
Summary: While Hawkeye is delirious he accidentally reveals that his mother's dead, but Margaret knows he's not the only one lying about his family.  Set during and after Carry On Hawkeye and sows the seeds for Margaret and Hawkeye's future friendship.
Relationships: Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Families

It pleased Margaret Houlihan to find post op a model of order and efficiency at the start of her shift. Really, it spoke to just how much unnecessary shenanigans and poor management happened at this MASH unit that they were able to function in tip top shape when nearly half of their staff was still out of commission. When the flu epidemic had hit them hard, Major Houlihan was proud to report that she kept the 4077 running like a well oiled machine despite being short staffed. Lt. Colonel Blake, now on his first day back at the job having just recovered from the flu, was undoubtedly reversing all the good work she put into administering these past few days. 

Margaret sighed. 

Looking around, the beds were still full. Any bed not currently taken by one of the many casualties of the war was occupied by one of their own flu patients. She noted that Dr. McIntyre was still in post op despite his shift ending a little over an hour ago. He was, of course, sitting with Dr. Pierce. Not that it mattered much to Dr. Pierce as he appeared to be sleeping soundly. Given that he was the last person in the unit to succumb to the flu, he was still very much afflicted while the majority of those still ill were moving towards recovery. Even her Frank was able to move back to the Swamp yesterday, still too ill to work but not ill enough to justify taking up a bed in post op.

As she watched, McIntyre stroked a lock of hair off of Pierce’s forehead. Margaret rolled her eyes. How the two of them could get away with their little affair while being so obvious infuriated her. She spent her entire career carefully monitoring her actions around her fellow servicewomen to ensure she didn’t give anything dischargeable away about herself and here these two idiots spend each day signaling it to the whole camp and somehow everyone just laughs it off as some sort of joke. She didn’t understand it.

Margaret made a point of walking over loudly and McIntyre doesn’t even have the self-preservation to draw back his hand and distance himself. Instead he rests his palm on his friend’s forehead and kept it there. She huffed and picked up Dr. Pierce’s chart. 

“His temperature’s still climbing,” McIntyre said, reaching for a wet cloth to put on Hawkeye’s forehead.

“I see that,” Margaret replied, reading as much on his chart. She peered back at Hawkeye, “He’s sleeping soundly enough.”

“Now. He was mumbling in his sleep a bit ago.” McIntyre yawned but tried to stifle it.

“Captain McIntyre. Your shift has ended an hour and a half ago. I suggest you go get something to eat and go to sleep.”

“Naw, I’m good,” McIntrye said.

“Captain!”

“What now?” He grumbled.

“Need I remind you that only three days ago you were too sick to leave your cot? You’re back on duty only under the condition that you work shorter shifts and get plenty of rest. Now, I am ordering you out of post op and off to bed!”

McIntyre gave her a sly smile, “You offering to tuck me in?”

Margaret glared at him. McIntyre’s smile melted. “What about Hawkeye?” 

“I am perfectly capable of looking after him, as well as the rest of the ill and wounded, Doctor.” Margaret said.

McIntyre looked from Margaret to Dr. Pierce and then back to her. “I don’t like leaving him while his temperature’s so high. If it keeps climbing we’ll have to take some drastic measures to get it down.”

Margaret sighed. She put a hand on McIntyre’s arm, certain she’d soon regret showing him this kindness. “He’ll be fine, doctor. If there's any trouble I’ll get you right away, but you’re doing him no good wearing yourself out.”

McIntyre blinked at her, surprised by her uncharacteristic warmth. Then sighed. “Suppose you have a point. But if he needs me-”

“You’ll be the first person I call.”

“Good.”

Margaret watched him leave, then shook her head and returned to work. 

Rounds were uneventful. Hawkeye had done an excellent job taking care of the last batch of injured and they were all healing nicely. Some of the least injured were already heading back to the front while the worst were scheduled to head out to Tokyo tomorrow morning. Fortunately for them, they had no new casualties in the past two days, allowing a chance for everyone to rest and recover. In fact, as long as there were no further incoming wounded, they might have a number of empty beds by the end of the week. 

She had just sat down to write a few notes for the Bigalow who had the next shift when she heard a voice from the far end of the room. She put down her pen and made her way to the other end of the room to see what the fuss was. She found Hawkeye mumbling loudly in his sleep, tossing and turning in discomfort.

She took a seat next to him and took the wet, now warm, rag off his forehead, and rinsed it out in some cool water before replacing it. “Settle down Dr. Pierce.”

Hawkeye’s eyes blinked open, bright with fever. “Mom?”

Margaret sighed. It wasn’t uncommon for their patients to mistake the nurses for their mothers, wives, or girls back home. She and the nurses found it was always easiest to just play along, rather than upset their patients by insisting that they were strangers and bring back the reality that they were in the war. So she took Hawkeye’s hand. 

“Yes, ah, Ben.” But it certainly felt strange doing this for a colleague. “It’s mom. I’m here. Now go back to sleep, you need the rest.”

Unlike most patients, this didn’t seem to calm him. Quite the opposite. Hawkeye started to struggle to get up. Margaret put a hand on his chest to stop him. 

“Mom, please. Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

“Please,” Hawkeye said, his voice small. He grabbed her hand on his chest with both of his and held on tight. “Please mom, don’t die.”

Margaret blinked. What?

“Mom…”

“I’m not dying. I’m here,” Margaret said. Her mind was going a mile a minute. Dr. Pierce’s mother was alive, right? Alive and living in Vermont with his father and sister. At least that’s what Pierce always said.

Unfortunately this didn’t seem to give Hawkeye any comfort. He started to sob. Margaret tried to comfort him the best she could. He was trying to sit up again and this time she let him, enveloping him into a tight hug as his arms wrapped around her. 

“Dad keeps making breakfast.” Hawkeye mumbled into her chest.

“Okay,” Margaret said, playing along the best she could.

“They keep getting better every day.”

“That’s good, right?”

“No.” Hawkeye said firmly. 

“No?”

“I don’t want french toast.” Hawkeye looked up. “I want you to come home.”

“Okay, I’ll come home.”

Hawkeye just cried harder. Margaret looked around bewildered and found Kellye watching with concern.

Get McIntyre. Margaret mouthed. Kellye nodded and hurried off.

Hesitantly Margaret raised a hand and touched Hawkeye’s head. When he didn’t react she slowly started stroking his hair and humming. It seemed to work. Slowly his sobs quieted down and he began to sag in her arms so Margaret lowered him back down onto the bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

“What’s going on here?” McIntrye demanded, storming into post op as Margaret was covering Hawkeye back up with one of the brown army issue blankets.

“Hush!” Margaret whispered back. “I just got him back down.”

“I told-” McIntyre lowered his voice. “I told you to keep an eye on him and Kellye says you made him cry.”

Behind him, Kellye shook her head.

“I made him cry?” Margaret hissed back, standing and heading out of the room with McIntrye following. “I did not! You said yourself he was restless.” 

“Restless ya, not sobbing. You being mean to him?” He was half joking now, but she could tell he was still concerned. Margaret waited until they were both out of the room to continue the conversation in more privacy.

Once the doors closed behind them she turned back to face him. “He thought I was his mother and started crying.”

“Oh.”

Margaret was no dummy. That “oh” clearly held a bit of understanding behind it. 

“You know,” she said slowly, “maybe it’ll help him if we patch a call to Vermont and see if we can get her on the line the next time he wakes up.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t-You know they’d worry if they heard he was sick and besides, his fever’s so high you know maybe we should-” 

“I see.” Said Margaret. She looked back toward the doors to post op. “You know, McDonnell’s doing better.”

“Ya?” Trapper looked confused by the change of topic.

“Yes. I was thinking she could recupe well enough in the nurses tent at this point. Her fever broke an hour ago so there's really no reason to keep her in post op. If that is alright with you, that is.”

“Well, I guess so,” Trapper replied.

“And, you know, if McDonnell leaves, then the bed next to Haw- Dr. Pierce is free. You are supposed to be resting, right now Dr. McIntrye.”

“Why Margaret-”

“I’m doing this for Pierce, not you. He single handedly ran this hospital while you were all sick and now he needs to rest himself. If having you near helps, then I’m willing to let this slide.”

“I didn't think you had it in you!”

“Now don’t think you can take advantage. This is a one time thing. We go by the rules after this.”

“Wouldn’t think it,” McIntrye said. He started back towards post ops but stopped at the door and turned back to her. “You know you were wrong though.”

“About what?” She asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“He didn’t run the hospital by himself. He had you.” McIntrye didn’t wait for a response, so he missed the rare, genuine smile she gave him.

***

For once in his short military career, Margaret was pleased to see McIntyre behaved. He spent his time in post ops split between doting on Hawkeye and catnapping in the cot beside him. With Hawkeye under good supervision, she was able to devote her full attention to the soldiers who had come from the front line and the others who were recovering from the flu. It was a good shift in that it was a busy one which made time seem to go quickly. By the time Bigalow came to replace her, she was eager for supper which, given the quality of the food in the mess tent, was saying something.

“Hey, Margaret. You leaving?” McIntyre said as she finished up with Bigalow. “Heading to the Mess?”

“Yes, what is it to you?” She asked, guarded.

“Nothing, just have a nice super.” McIntyre grinned.

“Thanks,” she said cautiously. Uncertain if he was actually being kind to her after she let him take the cot next to Hawkeye, or if he was up to something.

She headed out of post ops and into the unusually mild spring day. Korean weather was often one of extremes, bitterly cold in the winters, scorching hot summers. Today was one of those rare mild days of their all too short springs. The camp was still and quiet, to the point that it looked nearly deserted. She wondered absently where everyone was. Things had just started to pick back up again and she expected to see people milling about, but all she could see were the two guards on duty. She shrugged and made her way to the mess tent.

Apparently that was where everone was and to her surprise, they all stood up and cheered as she entered. The corporals near the door threw confetti up in the air.

“For she’s a jolly good fellow…” the crowd immediately began to sing as she looked around confused. 

“I...what?” Margaret looked around bewildered. She couldn’t get over that they were doing all of this for her.

“Major Margaret Houlihan,” Lt. Colonel started, talking around his cigar, “in fondness and thanks and well, um, general admiration for your major’s general you know, major leadership and general good service during a major crisis of the camp’s general personnel and in keeping this major operation going during our major flu epidemic, I hereby award you with this major honor from the group in general. Uh, here.”

Blake thrusted at bedpan covered in some kind of scribbling at her. Upon closer examination, it had everyone’s names written on it, most with some sort of thanks attached.

“I-I don’t know what to say. I was just doing my duty and…” She straightened up and gathered herself together. “Thank you. And thank you to all the staff that pulled together while we were so short staffed, took on additional duties, and assured our young men from the front were well cared for as well as our fellow officers here at the 4077 who were recovering from this epidemic.”

Her words were met with a general cheer. Margaret smiled, brightly. 

“Now in honor of tonight’s major guest of honor, Klinger and Radar have managed to procure meatloaf for tonight’s feast made with mostly real meat!” Announced the Lt. Colonel. “Served with gray gravy over a potato like substance.”

There was another cheer. Their standards had become so low, Margaret smirked. Ah well, if you can’t beat them… She grabbed herself a tray. 

“It actually smells like food today.” Father Malcahey commented next to her.

“Well from what I heard it almost is,” Margaret replied.

The two took a table in the corner. “Have you signed the scroll yet?”

“The scroll?”

The Father gave a little chuckle. Here, I think Radar’s come with it just now.”

Indeed he did. “Um, sir?”

“Ma’am” Margaret corrected.

“Yes, ma’am sir. We’re all signing this for Hawkeye.” Radar handed her a roll of toilet paper, already heavily signed, and a pen. She unrolled it all the way up to the last entry (Thanks old sport - Maj. Frank Burns) and after a moment’s thought, signed, “To a doctor, friend and all-around good egg. - Margaret Houlihan.

***

The next day, though still feverish, Trapper declared that Hawkeye’s fever was down enough for him to have a little gathering to receive his scroll. Trapper kept Hawkeye entertained while Margaret gathered the rest of the group, including Frank who was now on his feet and resuming his usual duties. It was a much smaller affair than the party she had the night before, but Margaret hardly felt bad about that. Hawkeye wasn’t ready for anything that big and besides, he had managed to pull off or be involved in any number of dubious parties over the last few months. And no one had thrown her a party since she shipped out to Korea. In fact, she very rarely ever had a party, even for her birthday as a child.

Once they gave the TP scroll to Hawkeye, Radar shooed everyone away, and they let him. After all, Dr. Pierce did need his rest. He gave them all a fluttering little wave and gave Margaret herself a conspiratorial wink. Oh, she was sure once he was back on his feet he’d be driving her and Frank and anyone else with any sense totally nuts, but she had to admit, she enjoyed the friendliness between them that had developed in the last few days. And maybe the good mood between the two of them would allow her to ask a few questions and get some real actual answers about what happened yesterday.

It wasn’t until yet another day had passed that she had a chance to ask him. Her shift in post op had been quiet. Most of the ill had recovered at that point and the injured were either shipped off to Tokyo or back to the line. In fact, their only patients were Dr. Pierce himself and a pair of privates who got in a bar fight - and all those two needed were a few bandages and a lecture, both of which she was more than capable of handling herself before sending them on their way.

Trapper spent the first half of her shift hovering around Hawkeye. And Hawkeye spent the first half of her shift asleep and completely unaware of the hovering. Then Colonel Blake came by and the two set up camp on the bed next to Hawkeye’s and began talking and chuckling to themselves.

“Excuse me,” Margaret barged in. “But this is a hospital and you’re disturbing my patient.”

“Oh, don’t worry Margaret, I’m already disturbed.” Hawkeye mumbled, eyes still closed.

“See, you woke him!” She glared down at him.

“Aw, Margaret-” Started Colonel Blake.

“Major to you!”

“Major Margaret-” Teased McIntyre.

“How dare you two come in here and disturb my patient’s rest! When the two of you were laid up with the flu, we let you rest didn’t we? No one was using the bunk next to you as a living room for, for their daily entertainment! You have the whole camp to joke around in. Go!”

“We’re entertaining him,” Trapper said, pointing to Hawkeye.

“Dr. Pierce needs rest.”

Realizing that she had a point, the pair slunked out of post ops, Margaret glaring at their backs until they were finally gone.

“And you,” Margaret said, turning back to Hawkeye.

“Yes mother?” Hawkeye opened her eyes and gave her a cheesy grin, though his obvious fatigue and malaise made it lack its usual luster. 

Margaret held out a thermometer and Hawkeye obediently opened his mouth. Margaret gave him the thermometer.

She eyed him thoughtfully.

“Why Margaret, now that you’ve got me on my back, are you finally plotting to have your way with me?”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Don’t talk with that thermometer in your mouth. You’ll mess up the reading.”

With his mouth remaining closed, Hawkeye muffled something that sounded vaguely like “yes ma’am.”

After a moment, she took the thermometer out. “One hundred and one,” she announced. “Down from a couple days ago, but still there.” 

She sighed and took a seat near his legs. “You know your fever shot up pretty high that day. Nearly a hundred and four.”

“I saw the notes,” Hawkeye said.

“And you were talking.”

“Oh? Did I say something tawdry, I hope.” He wagged his eyebrows. 

“Oh, cut it out Pierce.” She huffed. “You thought I was your mother.”

“I see,” Pierce said, sitting up a little. His hand started worrying the stiff army issue sheet. There was an awkward moment where both seemed to be waiting for the other to continue.

“You’re mother, she isn’t alive and well in Vermont is she?” Margaret asked softly.

“No.”

Margaret nodded. As she suspected. She put a hand over his, stilling them. 

He gave her a thoughtful look. “No yelling? No indignation?”

She sighed. “Honestly? I can’t say I’ve been up front about my family situation either. I’ve been telling everyone my father passed away but that simply isn’t true. In fact, he’s an army Colonel. What I’m saying is, I know there are reasons to avoid being completely up front about your family.”

“So it isn’t just me.”

“No, it isn’t.” 

“I-I didn’t exactly intend to lie. It just- the first time someone asked I found myself telling this story…” Hawkeye sighed. “It’s just, suddenly I could have a whole family, be like everyone else. And I just didn’t want to talk about-there's enough death here already. You know?” The truth is that I grew up in Maine, not Vermont. And my mother died when I was ten.”

“That must have been hard on you and your sister.”

“Yeah, um…”

“That is, you do have a sister, right?”

Hawkeye shook his head. 

Margaret nodded. “So it’s just you and your father, back in Maine.”

“Yeah, in Crabapple Cove.”

“Sounds like a nice town.”

“It is.” Hawkeye grinned as he closed his eyes. For a minute Margaret thought he was drifting off to sleep again, but when he opened them again they were bright and alert.

“What about your father?”

“Oh, my father.” She sighed and looked up for a moment. “He’s a good man. He really is. But he’s not easy to-what I mean is that he’s hard to impress. He has very exacting standards. I didn’t want to be labeled as a military brat you know. Because I’m not. If anything, my father always held me to a higher standard than any of the enlisted men under his command.”

Hawkeye frowned, “That doesn’t sound like a very good way to raise a child.”

“Oh, no. He was a good parent. The best,” she replied. “He made me the officer I am today.”

“But it’s not a parent’s job to raise officers, but people Margaret.”

“Oh, it’s all the same really.”

“It’s really not.” Margaret said, pulling her hand back.

“Okay, okay.” Hawkeye held his hands up in surrender. “I’m too sick to argue with you.”

“Okay.”

Hawkeye started playing with the edge of the sheet again. 

“You’re going to wear the sheet.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with my hands.”

“You don’t need to do anything with your hands! You’re supposed to be laying down and resting.”

“I can’t rest without something for my hands!”

Margaret rolled her eyes.

“Can someone fetch my knitting from the Swamp?”

“That I can allow,” Margaret said, standing up.

“Wait, Margaret.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks, and for what it’s worth, I promise I won’t share anything about your family.” Hawkeye said. “Not even to Trapper.”

Margaret nodded. “You’re secret's safe with me too. I won’t even tell Frank.”

By the time Margaret returned, Hawkeye was already fast asleep. She placed the red ball of yarn and knitting needles next to his bed. She had things to do now that he was asleep, but she found herself hesitating at his bedside.

It was strange, she thought, to share something like this in common with the man she’d often thought of as a nemesis. That they had both tried to hide the heartbreaks in their past by lying about their families. It had been an odd few days, between her newly forged bond with Hawkeye and then the celebration in her honor at the Mess Tent. Looking around to check that they were indeed truly alone, she reached out and gingerly stroked Hawkeye’s hair.

“Maybe, just maybe, we can form a family of our own here,” she whispered.


End file.
